


On Thy Ribs The Limpet Sticks

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-30 15:56:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8539189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Of pirates and whores and falling in love.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt #:** M38
> 
>  **Warnings:** AU, vague descriptions of sex, minor character death
> 
>  **Disclaimer** I neither own nor profit from the featured characters.
> 
>  **A/N:** Title from _The Sailor Boy_ by Alfred Lord Tennyson

 

**ON THY RIBS THE LIMPET STICKS**

PART ONE

Sirius cannot remember ever feeling such bliss. It is a mindless joy, heady and sweet. He is like a dog in the sunshine, spoiled and petted by loving hands.

The island is a mirage paradise, a sanctuary for all travellers who come in peace. He never knows what it is that keeps it safe and unmolested by those who seek to destroy it and its keeper, but he does not care to find out.

Sirius is helpless against the tide that is Remus, washing over him in unwitting cruelty. There must be peace in drowning, he is convinced of it now, but it takes more courage to lose himself than he suspected. The memory of the shrewd whore at Greyback's is still fresh, of a man willing to do anything, say anything for the right price. Yet even then Sirius was powerless. With every coin he pressed into those capable hands, he sold himself – heart and soul – to a siren even more mighty than the old tales say.

He is branded, carrying a stain on his heart never to be removed. Remus is in every breath and every sound. Sirius stumbles like a half-blind fool in the brightest light, and neither regrets nor minds.

The days are lazy. They are fucking and sleeping and drinking so much that his whole body aches with it. Remus pulls him into the sea in the morning. The cool water rushing around their bodies mixed with the heat shared in their kisses makes Sirius shiver. He cannot stop himself from pulling Remus behind one of the large rocks and getting him off with his hand. If he had more faith in his lungs, he would sink to his knees. Later Remus, helpful as always, presses his thighs together for Sirius to rut between like a beast in a frenzy.

He is human once more, when they return to shore, but Sirius' arm around his middle ensures that Remus remains close by. They barely cover themselves with colourful yards of cloth wrapped around their waists.

They share their morning meal with a cheerful Pomona and chatty Mr Flitwick, when Minerva puts a steaming pot of coffee on the rough wooden table.

"Minerva," Sirius greets, "light of my life. You haven't aged a day. I was beginning to fear you had returned to Scotland, when I didn't see you after we arrived."

The sharp tip of her cane catches him under the chin and he has to raise his head to avoid injury.

"Please refrain from addressing me in such an overly familiar manner, young man."

Sirius holds up his hands in surrender and is released, although the smirk on his face must show his lack of repentance.

"So what's the old man up to these days? I've never known him to let a single day go by without scheming."

Minerva emits a soft sound of displeasure, while righting the spectacles on her nose.

"I'm afraid, I don't know what you mean. We are honest people who have come here, retired after a life of work – honest work, I might add – to live out our days in peace in a more pleasant climate."

Sirius does not press her further. A stay on the island is never free, although no money will be exchanged between the locals and their guests. Dumbledore trades in favours instead, be they small or outrageous, but in the end he always gets what he wants.

Sirius decides to let sleeping lions lie. There is no room for concern with their shoulders touching and his hand on Remus' hip. The day stretches out before them as cloudless as the sky above. They wander without hurry, greeting several members of the Marauder's crew in passing, but Sirius intervenes before they can be pulled into conversation or fishing excursions. Instead of being sated by their time alone, his desire to keep Remus to himself has only increased. A peculiar change, considering that a lack of bodies and human noise around him always made his skin feel too small for his frame.

They find shade somewhere beyond the communal baths. A little manoeuvring has them both in one of the hammocks spanned between the trees in a small hollow west from Dumbledore's house. With the warm breeze blowing from the beach and the soft rocking motion of the hammock Sirius feels cradled by the world.

He counts the new freckles on Remus' shoulders. Every single one needs to be touched and learned. And the salt on the skin beneath his lips has to be tasted. The fingers in his hair make his scalp tingle and his mind blank. Their mouths find each other eventually. Sirius offers his tongue like a prayer to the temple of Remus' body. He thinks more of worship than gratification.

"Black! Captain needs to speak to you."

Dung's voice slices through their peace with annoying precision. Sirius neither acknowledges the man nor moves to get up. He is well occupied with the task at hand, and now that he has lost his place, he will have to start over. This time he will begin with the uppermost, there on the neck, and move south.

"The captain needs to get laid," he says into Remus' grinning face.

"Yeah, yeah. That's good, real good. Come on, I don't need Potter getting all pissy. You know how he gets. Now, please."

The sigh his lungs are hauling up must come all the way down from his toes. He points a stern finger at Remus.

"Don't move. I will be back."

The only reply he gets are nimble fingers sneaking between the folds of his makeshift wrap, tightening for a moment and then returning to where they came from.

Sirius' shipmate sends him to Dumbledore's house. After getting at least half dressed, he finds both the old man and James immediately upon entering. Dumbledore is handing out sweets to the children now swarming outside into the bright sunlight.

"There. Now run along home. Come back tomorrow for another story. And don't tell your mothers!"

James rolls his eyes. Sirius shrugs. They have known Dumbledore long enough to learn that any attempt to rush him is futile. They talk for a long time in the locked study upstairs. He listens and looks around at the books and maps, at the jewels and artefacts, the simple things in-between. There are pieces of linen and baskets from the women on the island; drawings, seashells and rocks from the children. All equally treasured.

Dumbledore speaks of a man in possession of a ring accidentally obtained among other spoils. A man with a taste for paid male company. Sirius does not bother asking what or how he knows. They get names, coordinates, schedules – all neatly bundled up.

"What do you want it for?" Sirius interrupts. "A single ring, not particularly valuable, not even worth a tenth of what you've got in this box." He nudges a container overflowing with things made of precious metals and stones sitting on the desk

"Nothing of importance, my boy. Merely settling an old debt between a former friend and myself."

"And who is to say that this former friend of yours doesn't already know where the ring is, or that he won't come after us to get it back?"

"The Marauder is small and fast, and you have a skilled crew. I have no doubt that you are perfectly able to get the ring without anyone being the wiser."

Sirius is not convinced, but a reproving look from James silences him. They talk in circles and anecdotes until it is time for them to leave.

The sudden heat and brightness outside make Sirius blink.

"Why did you want me here? You already agreed to his plan before I even arrived."

"I like to present at least the appearance of a united front." They both smile. "And it's an easy enough request. He's been very generous with the repairs and supplies. We'll be good to make it back to England after our little detour for the ring."

Sirius does not get to voice his opposition, before James goes on.

"Tell Remus tonight. I want to know, if he's willing to assist us by tomorrow."

Sirius sucks in a breath through his teeth.

"I distinctly remember you saying that our ship is no place for an untrained landlubber not too long ago. You saw him killed, drowned by a storm or captured practically from the moment he set foot on it. And now you suddenly trust him to do your dirty work for you."

"I trust that he wants to minimise the risk of an unnecessary fight, a fight that could very well delay or even prevent the continuation of our journey."

"And if he refuses?"

"Then we'll find a different way."

He puts a hand on Sirius' shoulder. "I stand by my word. He will have safe passage back to England, whether he agrees to help us or not. But I won't pretend I wouldn't prefer it, if he made himself useful."

"He saved my hide, and Peter's, and it cost him dearly."

"I never said I'm entirely convinced he was involved in Bellatrix' ambush, even if it all seemed terribly convenient."

"If anyone ratted us out, it was Greyback, not Remus."

"Possible. But he wasn't Greyback's right hand for nothing, he was practically running that whorehouse with his master. His skill set goes beyond the pleasures of the flesh, and I suspect his ambitions do as well. How can you be sure he's not leading you around by your cock to his own advantage? It's not like you to get so attached."

"I would say you're unfairly biased, but we've had this conversation before."

James' posture grows less tense, but his smile is brittle. A familiar sight these days.

"It doesn't matter. He's with us for now. But even you must see that he needs to leave the ship as soon as possible. He's a liability to our safety, and we are to his. When we're back in England, he'll be safe and out of the way, and we will all be better off for it."

"Out of whose way exactly? Our enemies' or yours?"

The chuckle Sirius hears sounds almost normal.

"Both."

Sirius is sitting by the big fire on the beach close to sundown. Peter continues his fencing lessons with two wooden swords he procured from the children, light on his feet and swift enough to hit Remus' side repeatedly.

"Do you always have to go for the same spot?" Remus says with a doleful look on his face. He rubs what will surely be a bruise by morning.

"Yes, you won't learn otherwise. Look, you're getting better, but you expose your flank too much."

He demonstrates a stance better suited for an attack and they are off again. Sirius watches them, feeling content and only a little regretful that Remus has exchanged his earlier attire for loose breeches.

The group around the fire swells and shrinks, eating and drinking, while the sun sinks into the ocean behind Sirius' back. He watches over Remus' shoulder as Kingsley entertains four of the local beauties with tales of their adventures and melancholy songs about unlucky sailors. He has two of them on each side. A fifth, who has been talking to Mundungus until now, turns to watch curiously as Kingsley reaches into the pouch hanging from his neck.

"For heaven's sake! Not the fucking miniatures again," Mundungus hisses under his breath.

But there, inevitable as the sea, they appear – ten small portraits, one after the other.

"Now, let me tell you about my beautiful wife and our beautiful children. Nine so far, and the tenth on the way. I've just had it in a letter."

Cries of admiration and congratulation follow, and Mundungus loses his companion for good as the tiny paintings are carefully handed from one woman to the next. It does not take long before the whole group strolls off to Kingsley's quarters. Mundungus keeps muttering and drinking, but soon scarpers as well. Sirius holds in his laughter until he is out of sight.

"D'you know who the worst clients are?" Remus says.

Sirius shakes his slightly fuzzy head.

"Those who think they shouldn't have to pay for it. Always act, as if they're doing you a favour."

"And what do you do with those ugly scoundrels?"

"I let them believe whatever they like, of course."

Sirius smiles and presses a kiss behind his ear.

"Of course."

They kiss, slow and deep, and Sirius thinks of the tide. He loses pockets of time in the endless back and forth. Remus is solid and warm in his arms. He feels skin on skin, tongue on tongue.

When he comes back to himself, the only members left of the Marauder's crew are Peter and James. With the fire burned down to embers, Sirius can see them clearly now. Peter is still talking woodcarving with his new friend from the island, while James' face is buried in the ample bosom of a black-eyed girl who has been watching him for days.

Sirius shakes his head, smiling, and hopes. Hopes against hope that James will find some relief from his broken heart.

He pulls Remus to his feet and they slowly make their way back to the hut they have chosen for themselves, a little unsteady now and then and interrupted by more kisses, because it is too tempting to tighten his grip around Remus' waist and pull him in.

The hut is small and low, housing only a single room. There is no glass in the window frames, which are only covered by wooden shutters. They are pushing them open to let cooler air in for the night. It is a simple dwelling. The furniture is limited to table, chair and a washstand in the corner, but the bed is large and comfortable.

There is a thin layer of sand all around which the breeze and their bodies carry everywhere. Sirius barely notices it. His eyes are focussed on the naked body on the bed, limbs stretching out and lying back on creased pillows. He does not bother with a candle. The moonlight, shining milky white from behind the gauzy cloth nailed in front of the windows, is enough to see by.

Leaning close, he tells Remus of James' plan – carefully, casually – but Remus is not fooled.

"What are you afraid of? Sounds doable enough to me. Or am I not proper pirate material? In case you haven't noticed, I'm very good at what I do."

"Oh, I've noticed."

Remus' smile is sharp as he slides on top of Sirius with unnatural ease. Their faces are hot and ruddy from the sun, so he keeps his touch gentle when their lips meet.

"I'm only concerned that you're not feeling pressured to agree to Dumbledore's harebrained schemes. But if you are decided, I won't stand in your way." He pauses. "And we're not pirates _exactly_. We do most of our thieving on land."

Remus laughs. The sound is not like a bell at all, but it rings through Sirius regardless.

"If you're not my beautiful pirate, then what are you?"

"Well, I am, of course, still remarkably beautiful. But what shall we call my profession, my dear coquette. Adventurer, perhaps? Miraculous mariner? Or seaman? And we both know how fond you are of that. Alas, I fear I'm only a poor sailor boy, making my way in the world, not quite honest and fair, but always charming."

"I'm so glad you don't suffer from self-delusion."

The night becomes quiet by and by. Sirius drifts with a pleasantly empty mind. Hours later he finds the bed empty and cool. The darkness outside is already brightening. Coming down to the beach, he sees a lonely figure sitting on the sand.

"You're up early," Sirius says as he makes himself comfortable next to Remus.

"Couldn't sleep."

He looks distant and breakable in the half-light. Sirius wants to pull him back, but he is afraid his lover might dissolve as easily as the morning mist.

"I'm not going to ask you, you know."

The words are hanging in the air while Remus looks at him, steady and searching. There are dark circles under his eyes that make him appear much paler than he is.

"I can't be trapped on a ship for good. I can't," he says at last, more to the sea than to Sirius.

"I'll-"

"Don't."

Remus does not want to hear promises, even if Sirius is sure he means them, but his smile returns with the sun slowly peeking over the horizon. Then they are lying in the sand, the waves lapping at their feet, and Sirius pulls Remus' hips against his own. It is uncomfortable and cold but for the small centre of heat blooming outwards from where they are connected. Remus seems impervious to pain and fatigue. His release, when he comes, hits Sirius' chin, and the earlier tension breaks with their laughter.

With his energy suddenly gone, Remus sags against him as they wade into the water. Sirius does not mind the closed eyes and the heavy head lolling against his shoulder, while he runs gentle hands over both of their bodies. They will need a proper bath later.

Sirius gets them both back to the hut and bundles Remus into the sheets of their bed. Outside Minerva, Moody and Dumbledore are puttering around with an early breakfast, while the last hungover stragglers aim to fill their bellies before turning in.

"That display at dawn was shameless even for you," a voice rasps from behind him.

"Ah, mon capitaine, I would have put on more of a show for you, if I'd known we had an audience."

James is sitting back in a shadowy corner, his feet propped up on a small table and his hat pulled low enough to cover most of his face.

"And how was your night, apart from feasting your eyes on my person in both fire and early morning light? A veritable treat, if I say so myself."

Sirius receives no answer.

"Please tell me you don't actually feel guilty because of that girl." He sighs. "Never mind, plenty of fish and all that-"

"Those feelings, this _love_ ," James spits, "if that's even what it is. It will fade, and it won't have been worth the pain that comes after."

Sirius does not say that those feelings of love do not seem to have faded for James, or that his friend likes to spread around his misery and envy like manure. Because – first and foremost – James is his brother and he would not wish to hurt him further, even if James has been in a frightful state since hearing of Lily Evans' engagement and subsequent marriage almost seven months ago. For James' sake, he hopes that she will be an early widow.

"I'm happy, James, in a way I never thought I could be," Sirius says quietly. "Of course, it's going to pass, all good things do." He shrugs. "It's still better than never having them at all. Whatever happens, it's no reason to be miserable in advance now. Get some rest. You look terrible."

He feels full of light, too full for food or sense, so he walks through the morning, and it is like being carried by the breeze. And when he shuts door of their hut with his back, rays of the sun are creeping into the bed, almost touching hair the colour of dead autumn leaves, and everything is calm, and silence, and peace.

 

PART TWO

A voice rises from the small church as Sirius passes. The village streets are mostly empty. Those who are not inside, are busy with work that cannot wait for Monday. Through the open door he can hear the flock's impatient bustle and the vicar's booming words.

"Sinners! Sinners, the lot of you. You shall all burn in hell. Even you, Myrtle Warren, for I saw you watching boys by the pond. And you, Seamus Finnigan, as all Irishmen inevitably will. Repent! Repent your sins, and shorten your eternity in the pit of fire. Repent, Rolanda Hooch for winning this year's hunting trophy and wrongfully besting the superior sex. Repent, Garrick Ollivander, for promoting witchcraft for monetary gain."

"I sell barometers and scales! It's not witchcraft, Argus!"

"Sinners! Sinners, all of you!"

He shakes his head and moves on. It is strange to be back on stale English soil. The sun, though still warm for September, feels infinitely weak and the air smells empty fresh.

He finds the cottage with little trouble. Luckily, there is no one about to witness his hesitation. It is larger than he expected, but still modest. There is a small wooden gate in the overgrown hedge and a grassy path leading up to the house. When he knocks on the door, he hears someone moving inside.

Then Remus is there – different, older, harder – staring at him as if he is seeing a ghost.

"Skipping church, I see," Sirius says and smiles.

"I do the parish books, so I get a pass."

There is ink on his fingers and flecks of grey in his hair. He looks good, filled out and healthy, and at home. Sirius steps inside without waiting to be invited.

"I'm sure you can spare a cup of coffee for a weary traveller."

Sirius gets his coffee, buttered bread and cheese, and a comfortable place to sit. Remus remains in a state of bewildered muteness. Hours pass. Despite the few words he is able to get out of his host, it seems self-evident that he is staying. Remus makes him bathe and change, assigns him one of the rooms and plies him with more coffee and food.

They are both sitting in the well-kept kitchen, when someone enters through the back door.

"Remus! You home? I've brought eggs from Mrs Weasley. Lord, I'm bursting at the seams, dinner was- Oh, and who's this?"

The young woman stops to stare at him. Sirius gets up and takes the basket of eggs from her.

"Everyone calls me Paddy. I'm an old friend of Remus."

"Dora is a kind of boarder here," Remus says, sounding unsure.

She huffs. " _A kind of boarder?_ I pretty much keep this house running – well, at least half running. And my cooking isn't too bad either." She pauses to give Sirius a smile. "Good to have you, I'm sure." Then points a threatening finger at Remus. "Just don't eat all the eggs tonight, I'm having _my_ two for breakfast tomorrow."

Then she is gone with a swish of skirts, leaving a trail of noise behind her and filling the house with life.

Remus keeps his distance for days. He is kind and generous, but shies away from Sirius when they are both alone. Dora is good company, friendly and open, and makes Sirius laugh. The three of them often walk through the woods and fields surrounding the cottage, soaking up the last proper sunlight of the year. There are trees, trees, trees everywhere. And every night Sirius waits for the connecting door between Remus' bedroom and his own to unlock.

It is Sunday once more. Dora is gone for church and the weakly dinner with the Weasleys and Sirius uses the hours of peace and quiet for a good, long soak. Remus joins him without a word. There are hands on him, gently soaping his hair, and two thumbs pressing into just the right spot behind his ears.

"You've done this for me before, once upon a time," Sirius muses, his voice hoarse.

"I remember."

"I'm glad. It's been a long time."

Remus does not answer, but his hands stay, first to rinse his hair, then to wash his back. Sirius knows Remus can see scars and marks that were not there twelve years ago, and he knows that he has lost much of his beauty.

"I never meant for it to be so long."

"I'm sure you didn't."

Sirius tilts his head back, grinning. "Did I break your heart?"

"Still entirely immune to all kinds of self-aggrandisement, I see."

"So, that's a yes."

"Don't flatter yourself."

He leaves, before Sirius can regret his words.

Sirius spends the afternoon sitting in a sunny spot by the open window of his bedroom, smoking a pipe and listening to Remus talk to one of his neighbours down in the garden.

"And you're sure it'll be fine, what with it all being boys?"

"As long as there is enough room to sit, everyone willing to learn is welcome."

"And I couldn't spare the girls every day, they would be missing a good deal, 'specially during harvest."

"Doesn't matter. Send them whenever you can, we'll catch them up."

"Only- you see, well, the vicar might think-"

"The vicar thinks we're all doomed from birth, a little education is hardly going to tip the scale."

The conversation meanders on. By the end, Remus has two new students for his school.

Sirius is so distracted by watching the birds in the sky that he does not hear Remus coming into the room. He watches Sirius for a long time, something simmering just under the skin.

"What happened? It's-" Remus makes a noise and shakes his head. "It hardly matters now. But you- you just disappeared. You could have said goodbye. Instead of letting me think you were dead, you could have said goodbye. I wasn't expecting anything from you, a few words would have sufficed."

"Sit down."

"What?"

"You're not helping to get me in a storytelling mood, and it's not a happy tale. Sit down."

There must be something in his voice that convinces Remus, because he sinks down on the bed without further protest.

Sirius leans back and relights his pipe. After a little while, the smoke is peacefully curling its way towards the ceiling.

"Things were going well, after we left you in Whitby. Very well. We did a lot of jobs and made a good deal of money. There were a few close calls, of course, but we had an excellent run. I wrote to you whenever I could. Perhaps you remember that too. Strangely enough, I thought, if I had enough money, I would want to retire, so to speak. But that never came to pass, I'm afraid." He chuckles humourlessly. "Fortuna is a fickle mistress, and she left me when I needed her most. It was a big job, huge. We would have been as rich as kings. I wanted to tell you before, but then decided against it, in case we failed. I didn't want to disappoint you. And then it all went to hell. They were waiting for us, Riddle's people. We didn't stand a chance. We went down fighting, but we went down all the same. James died in the gunfire, right then and there. I don't know what happened to the others. I ran. Unfortunately, some English naval officers picked me up in Gibraltar."

Sirius closes his eyes and drags the sweet smoke into his lungs.

"I spent seven years in prison, and I fought and bargained and threatened my way to the truth. I know what happened now. I know who betrayed us."

"Who?" Remus' face is bone white and the whispering lips bloodless.

"Peter, the snivelling rat."

"What- Peter? Little Peter Pettigrew? But why, why would he do it?"

Sirius knows they were close, but the doubt stings.

"Who fucking cares! I know where he is now, and I'm going to make him pay."

They sit in ringing silence until they hear Dora returning home. Sirius does not mind the interruption, he is tired.

The grasp of summer loosens at last and the autumn rains begin on the following day. Remus is quiet. He looks pale and weary, and Sirius wonders, whether it was right to come here. Dora picks up on the mood between them, but she, too, knows Remus well enough not to push, when everything about him seems to have turned inward.

Sirius misses it, when the turn of the key finally comes, so he is startled awake by Remus climbing into his bed. He holds Sirius too tightly, but with strong arms around him and a rapidly beating heart under his ear, the familiar buzzing in his head grows distant at last.

Remus is careful. Whenever the door between their rooms is open, each door leading out to the hall remains locked, and vice versa. The curtains are drawn and the blinds shut every night. Remus is careful with Sirius too. It is as though he only just realised that the man in his house is not a ghost. He spends hours lying next to Sirius, running gentle hands everywhere and staring, staring as if his eyes are starved.

There are letters in a cabinet by Remus' bed. Sirius recognises his own hand on one of the bundles. They are as battered as he is, with their fading ink and the edges worn soft. He does not look too closely at the others, nor the various trinkets and mementos.

There is a life here. One that only contains him on the furthest pole. The relief he feels surprises him.

They are lying in Remus' bed. Watery afternoon light shines through the drawn curtains and a drop of sweat trickles down into the hollow of Sirius' knee. Memories rush through him like waves, making him younger, stronger, whole. No touch can change the past, but Remus' heavy gaze warms him like the sun. When they have their breath back, Sirius asks about Dora.

"Ran away from home at barely sixteen, with nothing but the clothes on her back."

Sirius laughs. "Sounds familiar."

"I don't even know why. She never told me the particulars. My mother took her in, troublesome busybody that she was. But they got on, and my mother wasn't alone when I wasn't here. I think they were good for each other."

"So she was still alive, when you came back."

"Oh, yes. We had years." Remus smiles at him. "I spent a lot of time here. It was good. And after her death, we just went on as before. I settled here for good, found something to do. There was no school then. Those who could afford it sent their children away, and those who couldn't had to make do with whatever they could teach themselves, which really wasn't much in some cases. But, luckily, the vicar had some funds to spare, and I had some skills to trade, so we came to an arrangement."

"You've always had a head for business."

"It's useful for survival. The vicar has to justify every penny he spends here to his patron, but I make sure to send him off with a watertight report every quarter, and it hasn't failed to be convincing yet."

Sirius pulls him close, so they can see each other's faces.

"You've been happy here?"

Remus frowns, considering the question. There is a tinge of guilt in his eyes, but he nods.

Sirius smiles and kisses him. "Good. That's good. I'm glad."

If they were younger, this would be a prelude to a whole night of debauchery, but the satisfaction sinking into his core leaves him tired instead of energised, and it is warm and comfortable to be touched and held. Sirius feels like staying.

He watches Remus get dressed as the daylight outside fades into evening, until Remus suddenly stops, then sinks down onto the edge of the bed.

"You're leaving."

"Yes," Sirius says.

"Why now? I thought-" He sighs. "Never mind."

"I'm a fugitive, for one."

Remus glares at him. "But that's not the reason."

"You're right, it's not the reason. But I have to bring this to an end. I can't let him get away with it. I know how to find him now. Dumbledore is rumoured to be dead, but even if that's true, there are enough people left to help me. If we play our cards right, we can take Riddle down along with Peter."

Remus' laugh sounds hollow. "And all this just for revenge?"

"Please tell me you haven't become righteous over the years."

"Hardly. Peter and Riddle can live or die, I don't care. But you're chasing disappointment. Whatever you do, it won't change the past, and it won't bring any of them back. If you go down that road, you will find only two things at its end: nothing or death."

"At least I'll have the satisfaction of putting my hands around his treacherous neck!" Sirius takes a deep breath, pushing his anger aside before it can fester. "Listen, it won't be forever. I'm not saying goodbye, I will come back to you."

Remus' face turns hard as stone. "Do you think I sat around waiting for you?" he says, his voice icy calm. "I didn't. And I won't start now."

The slamming door makes the picture frame hanging over the bed rattle.

Dora comes rushing into the kitchen, where Sirius is tidying up after a late breakfast, two days later.

"There's a man looking for you! Or rather looking for someone whose description sounds suspiciously like you, _Paddy_."

Sirius' heart sinks. "What kind of man?"

"About this tall. No uniform, but-"

"Huge beak and ugly as sin?"

She laughs. "That'll be him. He's asking lots of questions, going from house to house."

Then Remus, attracted by the bustle, is standing in the door and asking for an explanation while Sirius curses.

"Fucking Snape. He had lost my trail weeks before I came here, I swear," Sirius says, but Remus brushes him off to interrogate Dora.

"Did you tell anyone he was here?"

She snorts, rolling her eyes. "You know what, I wasn't born yesterday. I know his presence here is a secret. And what about you? You're calling him _Sirius_ at least half the time."

Remus' face flushes.

Sirius feels a headache coming on and he has to count to five to make his voice sound calm. "Can we get back on topic?"

"We have to hide you," Dora says. "But where? Oh, oh – under my bed! He wouldn't dare search a lady's bedroom."

But Remus is shaking his head. "No, he shouldn't be trapped in the house, if anything goes wrong. The garden shed has a window at the back, he could still get out of there, if things go south."

"Good plan. There's enough rubbish in there to hide behind. He should pack a few things, just in case."

"You're right. I'll get his stuff."

"I'll pack some food!"

They are both almost out of the door, when Sirius has had enough. "Now, listen up, you two! I've got you in enough trouble as it is. I'm not going to hide in your house, when there are people coming who are looking for me. We can't be sure Snape's coming alone. He might have brought some men with him. I should just leave and take my chances. At least, if they pick me up on the road, it'll be much harder to prove that I came from here."

Dora mutters something to herself and leaves the room. But Remus turns back to him, then walks over in firm, measured steps until they are practically nose to nose. Remus has to look up to meet his eyes, but it is Sirius who feels small.

"You'll do as you're told." His voice is soft as spring.

Sirius opens his mouth to reply, but he has no ready answer. He is not sure how it happens, but a few minutes later, they are both leading him into the garden shed, where he is pushed into a crouch in a corner with two bundles in his lap – one containing his clothes, the other provisions.

For a time nothing happens, but then the shrill sound of the bell by the door rings through the house and garden. Sirius sits quietly for barely a moment, before he sneaks out of the shed and back to the cottage.

He cannot see Dora anywhere, but spots both Remus and Snape through the drawing room window. Their words are lost to him, and he can only see Snape clearly, because Remus is standing with his back to the window. They talk. Sirius waits for a sign that he should either run or intervene.

He does not know what it means, when Snape's face suddenly turns white. Everything moves too quickly. Snape storms out of the house, and Remus' grip on the back of the sofa makes his knuckles protrude.

A touch on his shoulder startles him.

"Come," Dora whispers, "he mustn't see you from the path."

Back in the shed, they are sitting shoulder to shoulder with their knees pulled to their chests.

"When you come back, there is something we should talk about."

Sirius does not know how he could have been so foolish as to expect anything about his return to England to be easy. "If this is about Remus-"

"No, it has nothing to do with him. It has nothing to do with anything like that. It's about you and me."

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes are watery, but she rolls them at herself and smiles. "Doesn't really matter right now. It's nothing bad, I promise. But when you're done with whatever you're planning to do, you'll come back here and we'll talk. Even if it takes a long time, even if I don't live here anymore, or Remus and I have gone on a treasure hunt in Timbuktu, you'll come and find me, yes?"

Sirius looks at her, bemused. "All right. Yes, all right. I promise."

Later he is repacking his knapsack, properly this time, while Remus hovers in the doorway between their rooms like a restless shadow. He and Dora have tried convincing Sirius to stay a few days longer to make sure the roads are clear of suspicious watchers, but Sirius does not want to wait.

"You know Snape," Sirius says, when his hands run out of anything to do.

Remus stills and looks away. "We've met. He won't be coming back here. You don't have to worry."

Sirius goes to him, wondering whether it will be easier to cut himself off right now or hold on until the last minute. He puts his forehead against Remus' and closes his eyes. "Do you want me to say goodbye or should I just disappear?"

Remus sighs, then slowly pulls him into an embrace. "I don't know."

They hold each other, gently, loosely.

"I don't know."

Sirius is ready to go hours before dawn. The sleeping man in the bed does not stir as he puts the thick envelope on the unoccupied pillow.

 

PART THREE

London is dirty, noisy, crowded. There are flurries of snow in the air, which a relentless wind chases around sharp corners. Sirius pulls up his shoulders to evade its icy sting. He tarries on the wide steps, while the rolled up paper quietly burns a hole in his pocket.

Inside the cathedral is packed. Those, who are not jostling each other in the pews, are stepping on the toes of their fellow mourners. Sirius moves through the throng, setting eyes on familiar faces in passing. He greets Dung and his new wife, who looks much too sensible for him, with a nod, and squeezes Kingsley's shoulder affectionately.

He moves on, sparing a sneering Snape the tiniest nod, still bitter that the miserable sod saved his life twice. Further up front Minerva, Pomona, Filius and Alastor are standing like watchful pillars. Their calm faces still show where they have spent the last decades.

He recognises Remus' back immediately. Sirius moves carefully until he is standing directly behind him.

"…with his unwavering trust in God, in his Queen and country, in this glorious Empire."

Sirius laughs. "What a crock of shit. I hate this country."

People are turning back to glare and mutter, but Sirius has eyes for only one of them. The shock makes Remus' eyes wide and his mouth open, and Sirius wants to drag him into his arms. He looks achingly handsome in his black coat and starched cravat, and he keeps looking at Sirius long after everyone else's attention has turned back to the Archbishop's droning words about Dumbledore.

Sirius turns back and walks, through the people and the blazing lights, through the clouds of cologne and the smell of dying flowers. This time Remus follows.

Outside the air has calmed and the falling snowflakes are heavy and slow. They are standing close, but not close enough, looking at each other. A long time, a short time, Sirius does not know. Remus looks too guarded or restrained, or something else he cannot quite put into words.

"Let's take a cab," Sirius says.

They have no trouble finding one, with so many idling by the cathedral. The horses are puffing in the cold like small steam engines.

Remus waits until they are both inside the carriage, before asking Sirius where he is staying.

"With you, if it's not too much of an imposition."

"I thought you had some fancy townhouse."

"I do. Although, considering the level of enjoyment the place has offered me in the past, I might just burn it to the ground one of these days."

"I suppose, you can come back with me, if you make yourself useful."

"Oh," Sirius says, grinning. "I'm a veritable jack of all trades, I'll find something. First of all, I will bring you the biggest turkey you've ever seen for Christmas."

Remus' face remains stern. "We're having goose."

Sirius laughs. "Contrary, little badger, 's what you are." He grasps Remus' hand, before it can be pulled away. "Why are you in a snit, when you are obviously delirious with joy to see me?"

Flustered like a boiling teakettle, Remus pulls a wad of papers out of the inside of his coat and throws it at Sirius' chest.

"You can have your money back. I don't want it."

"It's not just money, you know. There is some land as well, some jewellery, furniture and the gallery of portraits – the whole Black family in gory detail." Sirius shrugs. "What else was I supposed to do with it?"

"Nothing for all I care."

"Oh, hush, it's never that simple when it comes to money. However, it was never actually yours, since, as you can tell, I'm far from dead. But we can discuss it another time. In any case, I'm sure you will like this better."

He hands the elaborate pardon he has been carrying over to Remus, and he can tell, even without hearing the words, that this piece of paper is much more welcome.

They keep moving. There is another carriage eventually, then a train, more carriages and finally a rickety farm wagon.

There is the cottage, with Dora standing in the door, exclaiming: "I don't believe it!", before she is rushing down the path without coat or boots to meet them. She flings herself into his arms with such force that they both tumble to the ground.

"Three years, you utter pillock! Three years!" She must imagine some kind of protest or reservation, because she says: "You're staying for Christmas and New Year's! We're going to have a roast, and stockings, and carols, and Christmas pudding and mince pies. A proper family Christmas. No running off this time!"

"You don't have to worry about that. I rather think I'm staying for good," Sirius says, and is aggressively squeezed once more. "All right, all right. Leave the old bones intact."

Dinner and wine mellow Remus and his strange mood enough for him to start teasing.

"I'm really starting to doubt our justice system, with you being acquitted for crimes you most definitely committed."

Sirius grins. He wants to ask, if trying to be just in an unjust world makes one a hero or a fool, but then it hits him. Fear. _That_ is lurking at the back of Remus' mind. Sirius did not recognise it at first, because he has rarely seen Remus afraid of anything. But, of course, it would be. Remus is the kind of man who meets any kind of obstacle with composure, but starts panicking as soon as things are going well.

Sirius is not afraid anymore. What is there to be afraid of, when the worst has already happened? And he will erase Remus' fear too. He makes a start that night – soothing, kissing, fucking it away – until Remus sticks to him like a sleepy octopus, snuffling incoherent words into the tattoos on his chest.

Sirius is content to keep his feet still for a time, but not forever. Dora looks ready for her next big adventure, and even Remus might still find his sea legs with much gentle prodding. Sirius will take them away. Far, far away from England. South, where the sun and the sea are.


End file.
